Anarchists
by skylight glory
Summary: Anarchy is the absence of order within society. Dauntlessness is the seeming absence of fear within ourselves. Mira finds herself struggling to overcome her own fears and Tobias finds himself gaining a new one. This is the real story of a love born in the darkness and a world in desperate need of freedom — and only two anarchists prepared to tell it.


**notes ;** so i was rereading [ Divergent ] the other day, and i thought why not? because this series is so beautifully written and the story itself is so fantastic. and i really, really want to write a dystopian novel but i also want to explore this plotline again — my way.

**note of discretion ;** i've only read the first book so far. i never read the whole trilogy so any mistakes are actually my own and yeh. )': sorree

**disclaimed.**

* * *

**Anarchists**  
Chapter One

"_What would Katniss do?_ She'd rebel. She'd stop it. And I'm going to do the same thing." — Miranda Aarons

"YOU KNOW WE have to leave soon, right?" Amanda asks me, bemused. She's never understood my lack of thirst for knowledge. It's not really that — knowing things is cool, really — but I'd rather drown in a fantasy novel than read a five-hundred page tome on the physics of the brain. And I tried to read that one a long time ago, so I don't even know if that's what it's really about.

Amanda is standing in the doorway and I roll my eyes. Truly I'd love nothing more than to return home and read one of the timeless classics sitting under my bed, but this is important. "It's for Faction History," I say, with a blush. History is the only subject I'm remotely okay with actually learning about, which I'm teased regularly for. Everyone ( inexperienced ) at Erudite feels that history is useless, because who cares about what's already happened? They believe we need to focus on the future. They want evolution, not repetition.

She shakes her head at me. "I don't get it, Miranda. Why do you bother paying unnecessary attention to that useless subject?" Amanda is truly made for Erudite. Her father is a scientist and her mother a teacher at the compound. Both are exceptionally intelligent and have the same high expectations of their daughter — which she never fails to meet. Her eyes are bright, though obscured by the infamous-for-intelligence glasses, and she has large textbooks cradled lovingly in her hands.

"Because Mr. Garner believes I have _potential_," I stress the word. Potential is a big deal for Erudite kids. A lot of us have intelligence, but that only gets us so far. Some, like Jamie, counteract their natural brilliance with laziness. Others have nothing but their own curiosity and thirst for knowledge, though we are born without it. And others still have a true gift — we are born with intelligence and have a constant thirst for knowledge, and a way to retain it eternally.

And me? I'm still trying to figure it out. I've come to the inconclusive conclusion that I have a raw potential which I am too lazy to help grow, along with a lack of natural intelligence. For an Erudite, this is all okay. We learn to counteract these things at some point, when our real training begins as adults. However, I am a natural phenomenon, as it seems. I'm even hostile towards the fact that I _need_ to have this thirst for knowledge, this inborn curiosity — which I seem to lack currently.

And that's something you just don't _learn_. Not from a textbook, not from experience, not from life. It _comes_ to you. Whoever was handing out this curiosity must have decided I would do well without it, which is a rather incorrect evaluation.

Amanda rolls her eyes but moves on. "You should get FACTIONS: A THOROUGH EXPLORATION OF AMITY," she suggests helpfully. I smile gratefully at her, and we leave the library in semi-peace, which is rather unnatural for us these days.

Ever since we've come closer and closer to sixteen, Amanda and I have fought more often. We've been best friends since we were in diapers and this sudden emotional upheaval seems to have taken its toll on her. Amanda and I have been slightly codependent since our first days together, which I've tried to break free of. She knows that I'm not cut out for Erudite, despite my overbearing parents with their overbearing expectations, and now that she's recognized it she's been trying harder and harder to cling to me, or trying to show me the 'benefits' of being an Erudite.

Needless to say, it isn't working.

Our bus ride home together is filled to the brim with other students, and I try to focus on my book — for external company my parents have made a clear rule that in no uncertain terms am I to shame the family name by making apparent my lack of the proper Erudite qualities. I rolled my eyes at her then but I know it's important to both her and my father, and despite the fact that our relationship is rocky, I love them both. I would prefer they held me in the same regards.

Amanda is fidgeting as she reads, which makes it known she can't concentrate. I ask her what's wrong, though I know the answer, and she won't outright admit it. "I'm nervous," she says.

"About the aptitude tests?" I raise my eyebrows in mock disbelief. If I prod her enough she might come out and say it. "You already know where you're going to end up."

She blinks and opens her mouth, but that's the exact moment an Abnegation kicks my heavy book bag out of the way and sits unceremoniously in the seat behind ours. Amanda huffs and falls into a large tirade, but I'm the one who says it, and loudly. "Watch where you're going, _Stiff_," and I glare at him for good measure.

He ignores me, but I hears hoots of laughter throughout the bus. I'm sort of surprised by his actions — I didn't think he'd have the guts. Not only are Erudite book bags generally very heavy, which makes them pretty unapproachable, but the brewing tension between Abnegation and Erudite should create some apprehension within the scrawny Abnegation kid.

Now that I look at him, he isn't really a kid. He looks more like he's my age, but under-fed. There are bags under his eyes and suddenly there's a smirk on his face when he sees me looking at him. I blush and turn back to my book, pretending I'd never left the world of Amity.

* * *

"You had a biology quiz last week, correct?" my mother asks me. I chew thoughtfully, biding my time, but my parents are patient people. Finally, I swallow and say, "Yes," slowly and deliberately, so they can't miss it. A part of me wants them to.

"Have you received it back yet?" My father asks.

I pick up my glass of orange juice at the exact moment and drown in slowly, but at the end I have nothing left and no choice but to answer.

"I have." And it's no surprise, either. All of our tests and quizzes are put into scanning machines and graded on the same day we take them, and now we receive the back the week after. Erudite is more than well-aware that electronics have their flaws, and after my mother put on a show in the principal's office four years ago, the tests are now graded both by the machine and checked over by the instructor, and we receive them the next week.

"What was your result, Miranda?"

"An 87."

If I was from Abnegation, my parents would take me out proudly for a walk in celebration. If we were lucky, we'd see old women with lots of food to carry and help them cross the street — as a family. But we're not, and though Erudite students don't receive any special attention or higher difficulty levels in school, within their homes is a different story. For my mother, a failing grade is lower than a 95. My father holds the same values.

The _pride_ is evident in their shocked faces, and for a second I want to laugh in glee. My mother coughs delicately and stands. "Go to your room."

"But I have _three_ essays to write —!" I attempt protest and am shot down viciously by my father.

"If you can put such a high level of thought into your history essays, then I suppose you can achieve higher results on your biology _quizzes_, of all simple tasks," he says, and his voice betrays no emotion. I can read the disappointment between the lines.

Slowly, I stand, and mutter, "Yeah, well, if _you_ put such a high level of thought into raising your kid —"

"What was that, young lady?" My mother glared and I glared right back, though at my feet. "I expect to see you back home after the ceremony in two days."

And I think maybe this is her way of telling me she loves me and she's going to miss me and she doesn't want me to leave — all at once.

I smile at the slightly deranged but preferable thought, but then I think how she would feel if I chose Abnegation, like that scrawny kid on the bus who would probably refuse to leave his safe haven, and my smile drops.

* * *

"Aren't you going to read a bit more? Just to be prepared? You know, in case we walk into a psychology exam. I haven't really been focusing a lot on psychology lately because Ms. Reid postponed the exams and I'm not sure how much I remember about Freud. Did he invent the theory of three stages in a human's mentality or —" Amanda is twisting a lock of her dark, curled hair, which is currently in a bun that's come loose and now falls against her collarbone.

I interrupt her, hoping my expression is that of boredom. "Relax. Weren't we told that there's no way to prepare for the aptitude exams?"

Nevertheless, I can't help the that hands are sweaty, and I continuously wipe them on my dark blue jeans. My mother chose my outfit today, and I normally would have fought against her, but I was just as nervous as Amanda. I pull at the hem of my t-shirt absently and Amanda notices it finally.

"Ooh, that's pretty!" she says.

"My mom chose it. Uh — she bought it when I got my first 100 on that sociology exam last month," I smile.

"So what, it's like a lucky charm?" I shrug. I'm not sure what it is. I don't really need luck. I just want to stop being so nervous. I spent all of last night, awake, and I finally have it figured out. What I'm going to do, that is.

I might only be sixteen, and not really cut out for Erudite, but I know it isn't fair. We're going to be wrenched from our families and thrown into a new place, where they're probably going to throw us out to be factionless if we're not good enough in the faction we've decided upon. A lot of kids don't choose the faction they're best made for, and end up factionless at the age of sixteen or seventeen. A lot of them choose their old faction out of fear, and live their lives in complete boredom.

I want to go on an adventure. I don't want to take the easy way out. I don't want to live in Erudite forever, where the bar will forever be too high and my own expectations too low. I might as well be factionless if I end up back at Erudite.

And that's why I've resolved to do absolutely nothing while being tested. If they hand me a paper, I won't even even put my name on it before handing it in. If they throw me into the middle of a war, even, I'd let myself be killed than live in harmony with the rules of my society.

"Aarons, Miranda," a voice calls, and that's the only name I hear.

"Good luck," Amanda whispers, and I see her fervently reciting facts about grizzly bears, asking a fellow Erudite, Jackie, to test her and make sure she doesn't confuse them with honey bears.

While I'm walking through the halls, I feel a strange sense of peace. I think I've made amends with what's going to happen next, and though it was an insane idea last night, I silently wondered this morning, on the bus — _What would Katniss do?_ She'd rebel. She'd stop. And I'm going to do the same thing.

_Now I'm ready_, I think. My nails, colored dark blue and chipping, dig into the palm of my hands when I make a fist. And with that silent pep talk, I walk into the testing room.

* * *

It's not really what you'd expect, and my feet itch to leave. Run, as fast as I can, but I force myself to stand in the entrance. "Come in, close the door, take a seat," the instructor commands. I glare at her back as she busies herself with some wires, and then she turns around with a friendly smile. She must be Amity — she's wearing a yellow shirt and silver hoop earrings. Her skin is bright and blemish-free.

"It's not what you expected?" she asks with a laugh.

"Not even close," I mutter, closing the door and walking in. There's a chair, like there is in the hospital, and a desk on the side, and a computer monitor. There's also a side table with tangles upon tangles of wires. And a needle.

I pale instantly. She notices where my eyes have wandered. "My name is Sandy, and it doesn't hurt. Sit down, please."

Despite my better judgement, I sit down, all my muscles tense. Running or fighting are not parts of the Erudite lifestyle, though I've read stories — heroes, who must run through the evil forest full of murderous fairies to find their heroine. I don't have a heroine anywhere but I can certainly run fast, if I try.

"Relax. This is only going to be for a few minutes, 10 tops, and it doesn't hurt." Sandy spouts off about the safety, and the many benefits as well, and I tune her out after a few moments, practicing how to breathe properly. Like I told Amanda — there's no real way to prepare for this, except facing it head-on, and hoping to survive.

Sandy then injects the needle, and though my face is pinched up as though I'm ready for a multitude of pain...I feel nothing. Suddenly, the pristine testing room fades away and I'm falling, plunging headfirst into some dark abyss.

"_Choose_."

I stand there, staring at the two baskets, wondering what I should do. I'm thrown completely off balance for the first few seconds, my brain is spinning — I can't remember the plan. Do I even have one? My stomach aches and I want to vomit, but I gulp and suppress it.

"_Choose_!"

The voice is grating on my nerves and I finally remember — Katniss Everdeen. Crossing my arms, I idly wonder whether the voice will be irritated if I don't choose something soon.

"_CHOOSE_."

It will be irritated, apparently. I smirk and look at both baskets — one holds a book, and the other holds food of some sort. As I walk closer to the basket with the book, both disappear. There is no official explanation from The Voice, but I know I ran out of time.

Suddenly, my settings change. I'm on a train — on top of it. It's sleek and silver and the guts of wind are too strong for me. I can't open my eyes; my lids are too heavy, and though I stumble blindly to find something to grasp, I feel nothing but the wind.

Just as I am about to fall off, I see my parents. My mother's expression is that of desperation. "Miranda!" she screams. "_Jump_!"

Blind fear overtakes me — "_I can't make it_!"

For a second it feels like the wind has carried away my response with it. Then she shakes her head silently, her eyes filled with tears. I force myself to remember this is only a test; a simulation; it isn't real and my mother, the sensible woman who tells me not to inhale my cereal because I'll choke, would never tell me to jump around fifty feet. I'd break my neck.

But then I realize I _have_ to jump — I've got no choice. There's a tunnel ahead, and I don't have enough time to climb down and look blindly for a door. I _have_ to jump.

I prepare myself for the worst. I could die, and what would that do? Nothing, because this isn't real.

I glance to the side again and stop thinking. My knees bend and I feel adrenaline consuming me, filling the air I breathe, filling my lungs, flowing through my veins with the blood that will surely gush from my body once I fall.

And I take the plunge.

* * *

When I wake up, I am no longer on the concrete where I fell. Instead, I'm in a wooden chair, and all my limbs ache. I never really impacted onto the ground when I fell from the train, so surely it shouldn't hurt this much.

I open my eyes, preparing myself for a terrible sight. Instead, I see...people. I'm in a restaurant of some sort, maybe. There's the clink of glasses and the echoes of laughter surrounding the darkened place, and my pounding headache demands that everyone _shut up_.

"Excuse me, miss," a handsome guy comes up to me and smiles. My first instinct is wariness — after what I've just done, I can still feel the adrenaline pumping through me steadily, like my heartbeat.

"Yes?" I ask, clearing my throat and smiling. Underneath the table, my left hand is clenched into a fist.

"Do you know this woman?"

I stare at the photo and bite my lip, unsure of how to answer. "No," I say finally. I could have told the truth, especially to someone who seemed so kind, but something tells me he's not what he seems.

"I don't believe you understand the gravity of the situation, Miss Aarons," he says darkly, and I briefly wonder how he knows my name. "She has committed a great federal offense and I must find her to put an end to her insanity."

"I don't know who that is," I say firmly._ Yeah, except for the part where she's my mom_. My eyes itch suddenly but I don't want to lose contact with the guy.

"Tell me who it is, or I will _kill_ you," he whispers, and suddenly the man seems less handsome and more insane. I want desperately to run but I stand my ground. If I say I don't know her, I don't know her.

Suddenly, the man grabs my neck and I can see blurry red for the next few seconds; and he asks again, "Do. You. Know. Who. This. Is?"

"No," I gasp.

I see darkness, and I'm falling into it again — only, this time when I emerge, it's into the testing room.

I gasp wildly, my hands touching my neck, and open my eyes. _It's not real, it's not real, it's not real_, I repeatedly think to myself.

When I calm down and take shuddering breaths, Sandy is watching me strangely. "Do you know what just occurred?" She asks delicately.

"Um — yeah, of course. I was taking the aptitude test," I frown, and a feeling of dread begins to pool in my stomach.

"You know that the aptitude test is meant to rule out four factions and narrow your choices to one, yes?" I nod silently. "Your test ruled out four. Amity, Erudite, Candor, and Abnegation."

Amity — I disrupted peace: I enjoyed goading The Voice by ignoring it.

Erudite — I made a foolish decision: I didn't have to jump off the train.

Candor — I lied: to the man about the picture.

Abnegation — I was selfish: by lying to the man.

"Yes, and?" I ask. There is nothing wrong with the results. It worked out the way it's meant to.

"You were forced to make decisions that would reveal your faction. Every other person who took the test chose what they were meant to. Had you taken either the book or the food, you would've been lead to a large grizzly bear which would have lead you off into a natural other path. However, I was forced to keep changing your locations to get you to do things," Sandy says, and there is a glimmer of worry in her gaze.

"So what are you saying?" Thrill rushes through me and I bask in the feeling of rebellion I've started.

"This is extremely unacceptable. You will be fortunate enough that I don't report this to the Erudite compound for further analysis of your brain. I am going to delete the fact that this aptitude test ever occurred and you will take your place in your faction and forget this ever happened. You will not stand out in any way," she says quietly. "If anyone ever finds out about this, your life will be in extreme danger and so will the lives of many others."

I nod, my head spinning slightly. "Okay," I mutter in further acceptance. I have to convince myself, even, that none of this occurred.

"Be careful, Miranda. Many others — older, wiser than you, have attempted such an uprising within the factions. None of them have emerged alive. Be careful," she repeats, as though I need further persuasion.

I stand and leave. _Dauntless_, and another rush of thrill flows through me. Harry Potter could have ended up in Dauntless. He was a hero.

I am going to be a hero.


End file.
